


Just Another Episode

by siriuslyyellow



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Drama, Internal Monologue, M/M, Psychology, Religion, Suspense, Violence, Written in 2002
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyyellow/pseuds/siriuslyyellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short one-shot. A look inside Farfie-chan's mind during one of his more psychotic moments. Violence, and a hint of shounen ai/yaoi. Also has religious quotes. But not as bad as all that makes it sound, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Episode

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFN under the name Faye Chere in 2002, before I stopped using FFN.
> 
> This is from Farfarello's POV, during a more psychotic moment. I imagined it being Farfarello/Schuldig, but it reads more as just Farfarello being crazy. Lol. XD

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I see him sitting there. Alone. Unafraid. I am aware of his desire for absolute revenge against his own kind. I open the door and walk in. He does not stir. He knows it is I, the white-haired one, yet he sits in innocent ignorance. He remains untouched. By me, at least. But not for long. I must rid him of the sinful blood that God had given him. He is a fellow companion-one of the four of us who have given their lives to the underworld-and so it is the least I can do.

I take out one of my beautiful, glorious knives. It is new-still untainted with sinful blood. I will make it's mother to be the small one, and let him have the first taste of it's sharp, unyielding kiss.

Finally, he turns. Calmly greeting me, he foolishly asks what I am doing with one of my knives. I tell him that my baby will crucify what is left of his soul, so he cannot be regained by an evil God.

His eyes widen with realization and fear, and he turns to run. I grab his smooth, silky arm. Now all I need is to touch the blade to his skin, and his blood will rain down, pouring out like the screams of a girl receiving unwanted intercourse from a man.

I laugh at the thought.

The young one clumsily escapes my grasp, retreating to our main living room. I run to catch him, now eagerly anticipating the first strike.

As I reach him, however, our two companions return. The mind-reading sex slave tackles me, and I see our leader approach me with the familiar jacket. I try to fight it, but the situation is useless, and I eventually end up in my locked room, with walls the color of my hair. I sit in my chair, looking out the small window in my door, and as I see my companions' faces, I know what my own must look like.

They are talking about me, I know. I can tell by their eyes. They want to know how a knife-wielding madman ever loved God. The small hacker looks away. Our visionary boss wonders aloud. The red-haired prostitute tries searching my mind.

I do not care if my shields are up, although I know that they are. He cannot get in. They look at me with pity, fear, and worry. I am their companion, after all. I must not abandon them in battle, whether the fight be on the streets or in my mind.

The little one walks away, probably to make relations with the pretty kitty- one of our enemies. The anal-retentive suit with glasses continues on his daily, repetitive reports and files. Apparently, it is the slut's turn to watch me. I do not mind. They are all my friends. However, they are ignorant of God's wrath, and, as their friend, it is my duty to relieve them of their suffering.

"I will execute great vengeance on them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I lay My vengeance upon them." So says God in Ezekiel 25:17. Would such a God slay those that would slay others in his name? I suppose so. Which makes my job harder and easier at the same time, for I know what must be done, yet how am I supposed to accomplish these feats without being called a phony and a hypocrite? But, I really do not care what people call me, so long as they do not call me God's child. For I am not. I may once have been, but that time of childish dreams and hopes has long since past. In order to live, I must kill. This is reality. This is life.

I fondly remember one particularly sweet cutting of mine. I had slid the blade across my stomach, and watched the delicious crimson blood flow over my abdomen and pelvic regions. The scarlet stench filled the air, and I was intoxicated by peace. But, as always, my companions had stopped me before I was through. Either our leader had one of his damn visions, or the red- haired one read my mind, but, either way, they intercepted my knife before it could slice again, as usual. Then the small one bandaged my wounds. I am always grateful for this, but they do not understand that I cannot feel the coolness of the blade as it slices through my pale skin. They know, of course, but they do not understand.

I begin to feel subdued, calmer. I know that my tantrum is coming to a close. Soon, they will once again jokingly call me the moody one, and I will once again cook their dinner. It will be as it always has been.

I am aware that the suit and the slut feel regret that they were not back sooner, in order to further save the small one. I regret that they were not back later.

This scene is not new. It has happened before, and it will happen again. The hell of my passion slowly dies to a simple burning fire, and as I fall into a state of nothingness, from which I will wake up wanting to do the types of things that proclaim me to be a madman, I am left with the words of Ephesians 6:12. "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of darkness of the age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places."

Ah., the telepath says from within the recesses of my brain, Now I see.

Thoroughly amused, I respond with, What do you see?

What makes you so psychotic.

I am positive that my laughter chills his mind. Psychotic, I reply with a sly smile, is simply a synonym for enlightened.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_fin._


End file.
